


Save Some Face (You Know You've Only Got One)

by imawalkingtravesty



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Tony Stark, Arguing, Avengers Tower, Crying, Depressed Tony Stark, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imawalkingtravesty/pseuds/imawalkingtravesty
Summary: Stop pretending to be the hero.Because Steve was. Not Tony.Tony would never be good enough.In which Tony lets years of pent up resentment affect his relationship with Captain America, and it takes being found at his weakest for him to realize that maybe he could do with a friend.
Relationships: Howard Stark & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 10
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a while! I have about three thousand ideas and I never get around to finishing them (oops).  
> Anyway, commenting makes my week ;) let me know if you like it so far.  
> As always, heed the tags for TWs

Tony Stark used to idolize Captain America.

It was the only conversation he could have with his father without fighting, or without him getting in trouble somehow. It was something that the two agreed on; Steve Rogers was America’s wonderboy, a miracle, a work of genius. Howard would actually sit Tony down and tell him about the theory behind the super-serum, the people who worked behind it, and all of Captain America’s adventures and displays of bravery and justice. And Tony soaked it all in; the stories, the science, and his father’s attention for once.

As Tony got older, it became less of a fairy tale and more of a punishment to hear about him. Howard would hold him over his son’s head, using it against him. It was every kid’s dream to be like Captain America, and Howard used it to his advantage, shaping Tony into who he wanted him to be. _Don’t you want to be like Captain America, Anthony? Captain America wouldn’t cry over something so stupid. He didn’t run to his mummy over tiny things._

It became clear to Tony who the favourite child was. Although Steve Rogers was never technically Howard’s son, it sure felt like it. He would go away during the summer months while the ice had melted a bit in the North to try to find Captain America’s dead body. Once the three months were over, he’d come back and drink in his workshop for weeks. Tony never knew if he drank continuing into the year or finally sobered up, as he was shipped off to boarding school once September hit. He never really wanted to come home for Holidays as well, preferring to work alone than to stay in an empty house. Howard and Maria were usually attending galas or were too busy for him. They were all strangers.

Tony grew to hate captain America. He took his father away from him. He resented him. 

Rhodey, Tony’s instant friend and roommate at MIT, liked Captain America. He had an old war poster (he was a war buff) with his face on it, hanging above his bed, staring down at them, telling the two to buy war bonds or whatever. Tony didn’t exactly have the heart to tear it down, but it gave him a headache because he’d grit his teeth so hard whenever he passed by it. 

Tony was determined. He did lines of coke in front of the poster while Rhodey was in class or something, he brought back girls, he drank in front of Steve’s smiling face. He was a bit like Jesus in Tony’s eyes, and doing unholy acts in front of him gave Tony a bit of a high that had nothing to do with the absurd amounts of heroin injected into his bloodstream. He was being childish, he knew, but he did everything he could think of that would upset the righteous Captain America. He flipped it off every chance he got.

And Rhodey didn’t suspect a thing.

\---

“I need you to… not be here at two,” Tony mumbled as he hung up the phone.

“Uh, why?” Rhodey asked, looking up from his textbook.

“My dad’s coming. He, uh, has a meeting nearby, and my mom’s making him come,” Tony explained. “He’s uh, not a nice guy, I don’t think you’d want to be here.”

“Does he… hurt you?” Rhodey asked after a pause, and Tony quickly shook his head.

“No, none of that. I mean, not really. Only when he’s drunk. But he’s not going to be,” he added. “He has to be sober for his meeting.”

“Tony, that’s not the point-”

“Just I don’t think you’d want to meet him. I’ll try to keep his visit short. Please,” Tony interrupted, not about to have a whole do-I-need-to-call-CPS conversation.

“Tony-”

“We’re not talking about that. Just don’t be here. At two,” he snapped. 

Rhodey sighed, but nodded. “If he lays one finger on you...” he threatened, as if that was Tony’s fault.

“He won’t. I promise.” Tony nodded quickly, not quite sure if he was lying or not. 

\--

“Ah, Anthony. Who is it that you’re rooming with?”

Tony looked at his father’s gaze, his heart getting tugged to his stomach when he realized what he was looking at. “Uh, James Rhodes.”

“Sounds like a very respectable man.” Howard cleared his throat, still grinning at the Captain America poster. 

“Yeah. He’s going to the army,” Tony supplied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Perfect! Stay friends with him and Mr Rhodes could be the liaison between Stark Industries and the US military.” Howard clapped his hands together. “I’m sure it was Captain America that inspired him to join?”

“Yeah. To, to the army. Yeah,” Tony swallowed. “Cap, he’s, he’s a big inspiration.”

“That’s an understatement, son! He’s one of my greatest creations!”

Tony looked at the poster with eyes of steel, with carefully practiced emotion. Inside, he loathed the Captain. As much as he hated his father, resented him and vowed never to be like him, Tony still felt a pang of jealousy. Howard was here to visit him at MIT, not Captain America. He was _Tony’s_ father, not Steve’s. Couldn’t the attention be shifted to Tony’s accomplishments instead of the Captain’s? He was fifteen for God’s sake, fast-tracking through MIT, and Howard still pretended like he wasn’t his son.

Tony willed time to move faster. He didn’t want to look at his father’s gooey eyes of adoration every time he glanced at Rhodey’s poster. He just wanted to be alone.

An hour later, Tony smiled and waved as the car pulled away from the parking lot, then let his face go slack. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, walking with his head down back to the dorm rooms. As far as meetings with his father could go, this one had been okay. There wasn’t any yelling, there wasn’t any drinking, there wasn’t any accusing. Of course, if Howard hadn’t seen the poster then it would have been another story; but it was alright. It went alright. Then why was Tony’s heart so heavy?

He kicked at rocks on the path, watching them bounce off the pavement and onto the grass. He scowled when the bounce wasn’t as satisfactory, when he didn’t kick the rocks in the right place or hard enough. He watched his feet as he walked, a textbook picture of a moody teenager. Good. He hoped no one would recognize him and stop for a chat, he wanted to be left alone.

He opened the door to his room and kicked it shut, throwing his keys onto Rhodey’s desk. He closed his eyes for a moment and slumped against the wall beside the door frame, gathering himself. He had a headache, and he felt like he was carrying a ten-ton weight on his shoulders; he just felt miserable. Howard always made him feel that way, even if they had a positive interaction, because he always followed up with ways that Tony could do better. He was never good enough for Howard Stark, the genius inventor who saved America.

Fuck America.

Tony glanced up at the Fucking Captain America poster, about to raise a hand to flip him off as usual, and he just suddenly burst into tears.

His legs were ready to give out. He placed a supporting hand on Rhodey’s desk beside him, then almost fell when he realized his arms were shaking; his whole body was shaking. He grimaced through his tears, trying not to pull his ugly-crier face, and he closed his eyes against the tidal wave of thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind; Captain America. His father. Words of disappointment, of disgust, spoken to Tony. Words that Tony had tried hard to forget. Snippets of conversation from the interaction earlier, making him cringe and feel worse. All he could think about was his father telling him that he was nothing compared to Steve Rogers, the son he wished he had instead.

He curled up under Rhodey’s desk, the small area comforting somehow. He kicked the chair out of the way, making it fall over with a clatter that made him jump and hit the top of his head on the underside of the desk. He tucked his legs close to his chest and rested his head on his knees, screwing his eyes shut. He couldn’t breathe, he just kept crying, his sobs erratic. He couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that he wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t calm down, he couldn’t stop shaking, he couldn’t stop spiraling. What would Howard say, if he could see him now? What would Captain America say, if he saw him in this moment of weakness? Because _Captain America was strong and fearless, Anthony. Not weak like you._

He didn’t know how long he sat there, curled up like a small child playing hide-and-seek, but it was the most pitiful and pathetic period of time he’d ever experienced in his life. He was gasping at random times, his breath hitching, and he bit into the flesh of his hand to keep himself from crying out. But eventually, somehow, it could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours, he calmed down. But even though his neck was cramped and everything below his knees were numb with pins and needles, he didn’t want to move; moving would mean that the desk wouldn’t block his view of the Fucking Captain America poster, and he didn’t know if he could look at it again without having a mental breakdown or start crying again or whatever he had just experienced. 

The door clicked open and Tony pressed his face into his knees, groaning internally. Rhodey. Rhodey would see him like this. And sure, it wasn’t Howard, it wasn’t Steve Rogers, but Tony would’ve preferred that no one see him like this, because he definitely looked like he had been crying and Rhodey would want to talk about it and Tony didn’t know if he could do that without turning into a blubbering mess of tears and snot and feelings.

“Tones,” Rhodey said simply, his knees cracking as he squatted down to Tony’s level. “Hey, man.”

Tony didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t lift his head up to look at his friend. He felt more tears come along with the lump in his throat and he squished his face into his knees further, as if to physically keep himself from crying. It didn’t work, of course, so he made an effort to not make any sound instead and pressed his lips tight together, although his nose was stuffed and breathing without sniffling had become quite difficult. God. He was a mess.

Rhodey fell on his butt to relieve the pressure on his knees, and leaned against part of the desk leg to keep himself upright. “What happened?”

Tony didn’t answer, but he opened his mouth to breathe to avoid sniffling. His breath came out as a shudder, and he decided that he’d rather not breathe at all.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” Rhodey offered, not pressing the matter. Tony thought for maybe half a second before finally speaking.

“A beer.” His voice cracked and he cringed, but Rhodey didn’t mention it and instead stood up to get a drink. God bless Rhodey.

In the absence of Rhodey’s presence, Tony uncurled slightly and rubbed at his eyes. They felt puffy and his face felt heavy. He wasn’t a pretty crier, and it always took ages until all the pink left his face and he could go out without looking like he’d spent the night sobbing into a pillow. His eyes would stay bloodshot for hours after as well, and he’d either just wear sunglasses or blame it on weed. It thankfully wasn’t a common occurrence, but lately, he found himself needing sunglasses more frequently. He was getting worse at this whole shutting-away-your-feelings thing that Howard seemed determined to get him to master.

“Here ya go, man,” Rhodey said, holding out a beer. Tony looked at it, and Rhodey paused for a second before remembering and putting it on the ground. Another stupid weakness. Tony’s hands shook as he opened the can with the pop tab. He didn’t like being handed things, something that would make his heart pound in his ears and make him feel like throwing up. Tony was weak.

He drank some of the buttery and bitter liquid, grimacing when it stung his throat. Rhodey sat with him without saying a word until Tony had drained the can (in honestly less time than he should’ve) and crushed it in his hands.

“Better?” Rhodey asked, shifting closer. 

Tony twisted the can instead of answering, and it split, sharp metal suddenly exposed. Tony stopped, staring at the broken can, his mind suddenly blank. Rhodey was quick to take it away from him, placing it on the ground beside him, away from Tony. Sharp things in hands while sad was always a no in Rhodey’s book, it didn’t matter if anyone had a history of hurting themselves or not. 

“Hey, man. You gotta tell me what’s going on,” he said, and Tony finally met his eyes.

Tony shrugged, the alcohol having calmed him down significantly, but he was still sober enough to feel the stupid anxiety wash over him when he weighed his options. He could say nothing, keep Rhodey in the dark, creating a lack of communication between them as a result, or tell him what happened and risk offending him and his poster choices, his inspiration to be in the army, and make himself look weak. It was lose-lose. As much as he wanted to trust Rhodey, keep their friendship thriving, he really didn’t want to seem small and silly and stupid.

Tony cleared his throat, testing his voice. “It’s nothing.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” Rhodey scoffed, but it was gentle. “Did Stark Senior hit you? You told me he-“

“He didn’t hit me!” Tony’s head snapped up, almost hitting the desk again. Just remembering the times when Tony had to hide from Howard when he was drunk made old scars scream out as a reminder.

“But it’s his fault that you’re upset, right? These aren’t two separate events?”

Tony took a deep breath, then let it out in a huff. “Yeah. Kind of. Not really. Sorry, I’m being stupid and-

“Don’t be an idiot. From what you’ve told me about your old man, he’s an insensitive ass,” Rhodey frowned. “I’m sorry he came over. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to intervene.”

“No, it’s not-” Tony stopped himself. “I just- it’s-” He took a deep breath. “Captain America.”

“What about him?”

“He’s- look. My dad, he, he kind of abandoned me for him. And I’m always being compared to him, because he, he made him, and he’s better. Stronger. Perfect. And your poster, it, it, I don’t know. It set me off, or something, and-” Tony explained, his mouth dry, his hands in tight fists. He could feel his heart pounding a million times a second in the back of his throat. His fingernails dug little half-moons into the palms of his hands, up to the point where it hurt, but Tony couldn’t relax them.

“Oh god. Okay. I’m so sorry,” Rhodey apologized quickly, standing up. “I didn’t-”

“No, I’m just being too sensitive or whatever, I’ll get over it, I’ll-” Tony tried to backtrack.

“I should’ve- forget it, Tones. Captain America is dead, he’s not coming back. Who needs his dusty old face on my wall, watching me sleep like a creep?” Rhodey ripped the poster off the wall and threw it in the small trash can beside his bed. “There we go, man. Should we burn him?”

“Rhodey, you don’t have to-“

“He’s hurting you, Tony. God. I’ve had him up there for months now, and you’re, oh man. If I had known...” Rhodey shook his head. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony said, finally getting out from the cramped spot under the desk. “You don’t have to-”

“Tony. Look at me, man.” Rhodey clamped a hand on both of Tony’s shoulders, keeping their chests facing each other. “If having a stupid poster that I only brought because my mom wanted me to can hurt you so much that you start crying, it’s better in the trash where it belongs. I know you, Tones. You never cry.”

Tony nodded, biting his lip. Tears were forming at the sides of his eyes and he blinked rapidly.

“C’mere, you idiot.” Rhodey pulled him into a hug, and Tony just let himself be held for a little bit.

Howard was an insensitive ass. Rhodey had said so himself. Tony wasn’t being too sensitive, he wasn’t being stupid and a cry baby. He wasn’t weak.

Rhodey was the reassurance that Tony depended on to get him out of college alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony didn’t feel anything when his parents died.

He stood up in front of flashing cameras and microphones and spat out lies about how great of a person his father was. He tried to keep his face as still as possible. It didn’t even feel like a funeral, it didn’t feel like it had when Jarvis had died; it felt more like a press conference. As soon as Tony had finished saying his say, Obie clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him into a back room.

“You alright?”

Tony nodded. 

“You sure about that?”

Tony shrugged.

Obie grimaced, and lowered his head so he could be face-to-face with Tony. “Your parents, I know you guys didn’t get along. You and your father, especially. But he loved ya, Tony. He just didn’t know how to tell you. He talked about you a lot, with me. Said you had potential. Told me that if anything happened, he trusted me to take care of you. He really did love you.”

Tony doubted that and made a little noise of disbelief. He looked down at his shoes.

“I think, in Howard’s name, it would be beneficial to keep the search for the late Captain America alive.”

Tony nodded. Just hearing his name made his blood boil.

“You sure you’re okay? You look like you might pass out on me.”

“I think I’m gonna go,” Tony blurted out. “Go home. I think.”

“I’ll call a driver,” Obie nodded, pulling out his cellphone. “But Tony- you did well today.”

Tony nodded, and an hour later he found himself in the empty hallways of his old mansion, searching up properties in Malibu to buy. He was anxious to get out. He hated the mansion, with Howard lurking behind every wall, neglect pooling around his feet and into the air.

He held a bottle of whiskey in his left hand and brought it in the air as a toast to the heavens.

\--

Tony ended up buying a property on a cliff, out of spite. His new PA, Pepper Potts, had talked to several engineers and came up with the fact that the cliff was much too sharp and dangerous to build a structurally-sound shed, let alone a mansion.

Tony built one anyway. Designing his new house was his new project. Working helped keep him distracted, and as long as he was regularly spewing out new weapon designs, Obie didn’t bother him. Except for when he needed something done specifically.

“Go.”

“You sure?”

“I want to do this alone,” Tony reassured her.

Pepper nodded, but looked worried. “You’re gonna be okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. See you after your meeting,” Tony smiled at her. He didn’t quite believe his own words either.

Tony watched as Happy pulled out of the long driveway, with Pepper in the backseat. He turned and stepped into the lobby of the mansion, and closed his eyes against the tidal wave of memories. He didn’t like it here. It smelled dead, empty, almost haunted. He felt small, like he was younger again, still living here, and he half-expected to hear the voices of butlers or cooks or maids or his parents calling and echoing through the hallways.

Tony took a deep breath and moved forward. He had a job to do. There was a reason he was here, and he could get that done and get out of here.

Howard had supposedly left a whole bunch of unfinished weapons and blueprints that Obie had sent Tony to find. And that meant going to a house that he had vowed never to return to. He had fought with him, but he brought out the ‘make your father proud,’ and Tony found himself agreeing to go. Obie pulled that card whenever he wanted him to do something. 

Tony had thrown up on this carpet when he got drunk for the first time. Howard sent him to his room for two days. Although it was Howard’s fault for giving ten year-old Tony a drink or three.

Tony had hid behind this couch when Howard had stormed around the mansion in search for his son. He had stayed cramped behind the furniture until Jarvis had started calling his name and he figured it was safe to come out. It wasn’t.

Tony had figured out an elevator mechanism to go down this laundry chute when he had to sneak around the house. He went to great lengths to avoid his father when he was angry.

He made it to his father’s workshop without incident. He could feel himself wanting to curl up into a ball though, or call Pepper to come pick him up. She’d come. She knew him, she knew that going to his old mansion made him all snappy and touchy. She knew that he wasn’t bringing her out of her meeting to be annoying. 

Tony shook his head. He would be okay. He’d just get the blueprints and leave, and he wouldn’t have to be here ever again. 

He pulled open a filing cabinet at random, flipping through the files that resided there. He picked up a rather thick file, filled with the promising blue colour of the blueprint. He scanned through the designs, and his heart stopped. Of course. Project Rebirth. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of when he was in his dead father’s house. He grit his teeth and shoved the blueprints back where they belonged.

He pulled open another drawer, but it seemed as if he had picked the ’Captain America’ cabinet; inside were designs of the famous Captain’s shield. Even dead, Howard couldn’t give it a rest. What did Tony expect? Captain America had been dead years before he was born, and he still haunts him to this day. Why would Howard be any different? 

He pushed the cabinet over and it fell to the ground with a loud clatter that made every one of Tony’s bones vibrate. He needed a drink.

Thankfully, Howard was an alcoholic; Tony only had to look to his left to find a cabinet full of old wines and rich drinks. He pulled open the doors and grabbed one at random, popping it open with his teeth (a talent he learned in college) and drinking straight from the bottle. He took a few swigs before wiping his mouth and deciding to just get the shit he needed and get out.

He scanned the workplace, spotted a pile of blue on a desk, and went over to it. He put the bottle down to shift through them, but they were only designs for the arc reactor. Tony had perfected those a while ago, and now it was powering Stark Tower. He didn’t need those. He pushed them to the ground and they fell behind the desk.

He didn’t want to be here anymore. He was above, better, more advanced so to say, than his father. Everything he knew, Tony knew now. Perhaps even more. He took another drink from the bottle.

He shifted through more papers. More Captain America. A few designs for weapons that Tony placed near the door in a somewhat messy pile. There was a box that Tony couldn’t unlock for the life of him and a secret door that wouldn’t open without Howard’s retinal scanning, which would be impossible, unless he wanted to go grave digging. Perhaps he could hack into it, but he didn’t even want to know what Howard would need a secret door for. He had mentioned something about unspeakable weapons that he kept hidden, ones that could literally destroy the planet five times over, when he was drunk and rambling about his accomplishments to a teenaged Tony. His mouth went sour as he thought about it.

He shook his head and took a drink to wash the taste away. He had finished the bottle. 

He wanted to go home.

Tony opened a small desk drawer, and when he saw more plans for Howard’s attempts at obsessively trying to find Captain America’s body, Tony was halfway across the room, sat beside the liquor cabinet with a fresh bottle in his hand. And he was crying. 

He didn’t know when he utterly destroyed every single paper he found about the late Captain, but there were ripped papers everywhere and blueprints torn from the wall and photos ripped in five different pieces and thrown like confetti. He wanted to go back, back upstairs where there wasn’t a reminder of his father every five seconds like there was down here, on the very place he worked and drank. Where he designed the American Hero himself, along with the famous shield. Where he designed his perfect, ideal son. He must’ve been so disappointed when Tony was born.

“Mr Stark? Are you down here?”

Great. Pepper. She stepped into the room, still in her business attire, and looked around.

“Mr Stark?”

“Hi,” Tony spoke up. He put the bottle he was clutching so tightly on the ground beside him.

“Oh my god,” Pepper said, once she caught onto the state of the workshop and Tony.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tony said after clearing his throat. “Can we go now?”

Pepper walked over carefully, avoiding stepping on papers and such with her heels. She knelt beside Tony, and wiped his eyes with her jacket sleeve. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Drunk? Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Papers. Near the door.”

“Okay. Can you get up by yourself or should I call Happy?” Pepper switched from concerned PA to a getting-things-done PA. She was probably done with his drinking to avoid feeling emotions.

“M’fine,” Tom grumbled, picking himself up off the floor. 

The entire ride back to his Malibu mansion, he stayed pressed against the door, as far away from Pepper as he could.

But she still noticed how much he was shaking.

\--

Tony was proud of himself when he became Iron Man.

He knew he shouldn’t be; this wasn’t an accomplishment, it was necessary. He wasn’t going above and beyond. He shouldn’t be awarded for doing something he was supposed to do, keep the world a better place, try to undo all of his past mistakes. Deadly mistakes.

After all, Iron Man was perhaps the worst thing he’d ever done. His very existence presented a challenge, as it had since he was a little boy. Becoming Iron Man just made the challenge exciting. Iron Man brought on the betrayal of Obadiah Stane, it brought people like Ivan Vanko, and almost had him killed multiple times.

But he was a hero. In his armour, he was bigger, stronger, better. People idolized him like he had long idolized captain America. He was the modern-day version of the late war veteran, and he lived for it, basking in its glory and righteousness. But he always took off his armour at the end of the day and returned to his worthless self. Captain America never had to do that, he never took off his body.

Tony wished he was always Iron Man and that he never had to return to Tony Stark. One was clearly better than the other.

\--

“Tony?”

He couldn’t feel his hands. 

“Tony?”

He felt like he was going to throw up. His heart was pounding in his throat. He swallowed hard.

“Please look at me.”

“He’s alive,” Tony finally choked out.

He was sitting on the floor of the mansion living room, cross-legged, hugging himself. Pepper was staring at him like he had a heart attack, and Tony himself was about five seconds away from crying or lashing out or running away. His phone was on the ground by his knee, where it had fallen when he dropped it.

“Who?”

Tony just shook his head. Panic was making him feel all fluttery and not in a good way.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Tony said, his voice wavering. He coughed to clear his throat. He felt sick with anxiety.

“Tony.” Pepper shook her head.

“Captain America,” Tony said. “Steve Rogers.”

The name made him cringe. He had hoped to never hear it again. 

“Tony-”

“I need a drink.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get spicy now lmao

They hated each other.

There were decades of resentment and betrayal on Tony’s mind when he conversed with him, and a shitty report on Steve’s mind. Perhaps Steve had expected Tony to be like Howard Stark, and had his expectations shut down. Perhaps Steve had put him on a pedestal, only to be disappointed. Tony was nothing like Howard Stark. He was an asshole. A genius, yes, but an asshole.

It was like Steve Rogers knew exactly what to say to hurt him when he talked to Tony. It was like he read his mind. Everything that Tony hated about himself, Steve would point out, making Tony fight back harder to save face when in reality, he was crumbling inside. _Take off the suit and what are you?_

_Stop pretending to be the hero._ Because Steve was. Not Tony. Tony would never be good enough.

But it went fine. Tony sacrificed himself, feeling some strange intense desire to prove bother Steve and his father wrong. He could be the hero. Death would just be an added bonus, right? But Tony survived, woke up to the Captain’s pretty face, another nightmare. At least Steve had the sense to look relieved when Tony’s eyes flew open and made a joke about kissing. Maybe Steve didn’t even get the joke. Were fairy tales before his time? Was he just being polite?

Either way, Tony could convince himself on most days that the Captain didn’t want him dead. So out of impulse and the possibility of having company, he invited the whole team to live at the tower.

They were all kind of reluctant at first, and all moved in at different times. Bruce was first. Steve was last. Tony didn’t know if Thor had officially moved in or if he was treating the place as a hotel whenever he wanted to visit. Tony was excited when everyone had finally accepted his offer, but he found that he was still distant with everyone, that they tended to shy away from him.

Except for Bruce. They were science bros, working hard day and night on projects (except Bruce was maybe just working hard all day, unlike Tony, he had a consistent sleep schedule) and conversing in the lab. But Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Steve? They were next-level shit. Badass. Everything Tony wanted to be and more, strong, bold, sneaky, and composed. Tony loathed himself.

Not that Tony didn’t want to be like Bruce. He thought the Hulk was kind of cool and a scientific miracle. But maybe Tony just wanted to be everyone but himself.

Tony wasn’t good enough. They were all a reminder of that.

He worked out, bulking, spending hours at the gym that he had built. But every time someone else entered, he quickly left the room. He couldn’t stand being shown-up by one of them, watching them pile on the weights until it was twice the amount that Tony could ever lift. He felt so small, so weak, compared to them. 

He gave up trying to bulk and went to the gym occasionally, when he knew everyone else was off doing other things. Instead, he figured that if he could make his suit better, it would practically be the same thing as getting stronger? He started to merge machine with man, making the end products look seamless, but he often hurt himself in the process. JARVIS did routine blood checks now after a bout of mercury poisoning from injecting metal into his skin. But Tony didn’t care, he had to be better.

All of the added stress accumulated into a drinking problem. Tony would drink himself to unconsciousness some nights, waking up to whoever JARVIS had called to come rescue him. He wasn’t a damsel in distress. It was the worst when Steve would be the one to help him out.

“Stark.”

“Oh, anyone but you,” Tony groaned, rolling over to cover his face. Steve still frowned above him.

“Bold of you to say that to the person checking to see if you’re still breathing,” he said bitterly. “I could just leave you here.”

“Picked the short straw again?” Tony mumbled.

“Yup. Unfortunately,” Steve grabbed Tony’s arm to pull him up and wrinkled his nose. “You need a shower.”

“I need to be alone,” Tony pushed Steve away. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Drinking yourself to death. What would Howard say?” Steve shook his head, and Tony balled his fists together.

Of course Steve would go straight to the daddy issues. That was all he seemed to poke at these days. _What would Howard think? What would he say?_ As if Tony needed reminding of how much of a disappointment he was. He couldn’t even escape his father when he’d been in the grave for decades now. 

“You don’t get to say that.” Tony brought a fist up threateningly, his voice low. “You don’t.”

“I could take ten of you,” Steve said, uninterested. He glanced almost dismissively at Tony’s hand and pushed it down.

“Howard was an alcoholic too. Looks like I’m actually taking after him,” Tony said, struggling to get up from the floor, but ignoring Steve’s offering hand. “He wasn’t a saint.”

“So neither are you.”

“Thankfully. Does it ever get tiring, being so damn righteous all the time? Do you ever annoy yourself as much as you annoy me?” Tony spat, turning his back to Steve once he was fully upright.

“I’m not being righteous. I’m being the bigger person. Someone you should try to be,” Steve argued back. “Glad to see you’re breathing. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

Tony didn’t turn to see Steve storm out of the room, but heard the door slam behind him. He grabbed a bottle left on the counter and took a swig, the alcohol making his heart stop pounding so hard in his chest. He felt bitter, his father’s benders and behaviour fresh in his mind. He really was becoming his dad, unable to go a day without drinking and yelling at anyone he came into contact with. 

It made him feel a sickness that had nothing to do with his hangover.

\--

Sometimes when Tony felt completely and utterly hopeless, he worked on upgrades incessantly for the others. Because if Tony couldn’t be enough, then the others would have to do. 

He had to keep the world safe. It didn’t matter who did the deed in the end, as long as the world was safe. A suit of armour around the world. He ignored the other’s calls for company, ignored Bruce’s requests to work alongside him, and flat-out ignored JARVIS’s begging for him to take a break and go lie down before he passes out. None of them understood. None of them saw what he saw up there, nobody knew what he was even protecting them all _from._

Tony hated himself.

There were days, though, when he couldn’t get out of bed for lack of energy, or found himself on the floor in a corner after collapsing. He wouldn’t leave the workshop for days on end. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t do anything but _work,_ because _that_ was his main purpose in life and _everyone had to be safe._

He was depressed. 

The team would actually pull straws to see if their landlord was still alive. They told him that. It hurt something indescribable, but he didn’t let it show. Especially when Steve Rogers pulled the short one, and Tony would have to see the well-put together man, with his muscles and his perfect face and his perfect body and his perfect personality. And Tony would be a mess, barely awake, barely able to stand up. 

“Hey, Stark.”

Tony closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. “Shut up.”

“Tony?” Steve asked, searching. Steve used his first name. Steve was worried.

“Don’t. Please.” 

Steve finally found Tony in the corner, and his eyebrows were knitted together with concern. “Tony…” he said, squatting down so he was eye-level with him.

And even squatting, he was still tall. Bigger than Tony. So fucking put-together and muscular and perfect and everything Tony wasn’t. Steve had his life together and a great work relationship with everyone around him and Tony was in the corner of his workshop after working for days to keep the stupid depressing thoughts at bay. The thoughts caught up to him. Of course they caught up to him. He got tired too easily now, it kept getting harder and harder to hold his head up to think of something other than why he shouldn’t even be alive right now.

“Just don’t. Don’t say anything,” Tony begged, holding his head in his hands. He didn’t know if he could take any more pity.

“Let’s get you to bed, alright?” Steve offered.

“I can’t move.”

“Should I carry you?” 

And of course he would say that, because he was strong enough to. Steve could carry Tony up the stairs and probably use him as a free weight and throw him half a mile before his muscles even protested. To Steve, Tony weighed about five pounds. And Tony couldn’t even stand up without his legs giving out. Weak. 

“Just leave me alone,” Tony answered.

“Come on.” Steve grabbed under Tony’s armpit and hauled him up, and Tony couldn’t do anything because he was just so damn strong and those muscles could easily hurt him as much as they could help him. He was always aware of how strong Steve was, how easily he could choke the life out of Tony without even trying. And there would be nothing that Tony could do to resist.

Self-hatred boiled inside of him and he had to say something stupid, something verminous. Something he’d definitely regret later.

“Why do you have to just be so helpful? Help many old ladies cross the street, do you?” Tony spat, unable to pull himself from Steve’s grip.

Steve paused and opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. “You’re tired. I’m gonna let that side.”

“Ugh,” Tony said simply. But Steve was right.

Steve was always right. 

Steve always left after seeing Tony safely in bed. But Steve didn’t see Tony seething with self-hatred, every muscle in his body tense. His hands were curled into right fists, his jaw was clenched, and he was unable to relax. Why did he have to let Steve see him like that? If he had just locked the workshop and turned off JARVIS, then he wouldn’t have been able to even come in. Steve wouldn’t be able to see how weak Tony was, unable to even stand up by himself, worked to the bone and questioning his own existence. Why was he so weak? Why wasn’t he strong like Steve? Tony wasn’t a hero; he was just a giant PR stunt, trying to desperately cover up and fix the giant mistakes he had made.

Tony got up, using the wall to support him as he made his way to the washroom. He took one look at himself in the mirror and punched it as hard as he could, shattering the glass and sending shards every which-way. He fell on the ground, his palm pressing into bits of the broken glass, blood running down his wrist.

“Fuck this,” he muttered to himself. He brushed his hands together to get some glass off, but only succeeded in bloodying both his hands. He slumped against the wall, feeling himself drain away.

He woke up to Pepper checking for a pulse. He was okay with her seeing him like this. Because she got him, and although he envied how she had everything in order in her life, he knew it wasn’t pity that flashed in her eyes as she looked at him, it was just plain ol’ sympathy and worry. Life’s simple pleasures.

He fucking hated himself.

He would never amount to Captain America. Stop trying.


	4. Chapter 4

“Tones. Everything okay?”

Tony felt empty. Far away. He was having a particularly bad December 16th, his mind spiraling. Everything had seemed to get worse ever since Steve had moved in. He felt worse, he slept worse, he ate worse. All of that had accumulated and now he felt like flying up as high as he could go in the Iron Man suit and cutting power.

Falling. Just like with the wormhole. He shuddered, biting the inside of his cheek before answering. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired.”

“Go to bed,” Rhodey supplied unhelpfully.

“Not that kind of tired.” Tony shook his head even though Rhodey couldn’t see over the phone. “You said you’d be here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Rhodey sounded apologetic even through the phone. “They kept me here longer than I thought. But I’m on the road right now.”

“You told me. Every year. You, you promised.” Tony couldn’t help his tone from going accusing. “At least today. Every year. One day a year.”

“I’m so sorry, Tones.” Rhodey sounded crushed. 

“You’ve always been here. December sixteenth. Every year.” Tony got a bit choked up and coughed to clear his throat.

“I can’t. I’m so sorry,” Rhodey said. “I can call someone for you. Pepper?”

“No. Meeting. Busy. She’ll hate me,” Tony dismissed the offer.

“You’ve got a whole tower of people to choose from, man. What about Dr Banner?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Rhodey.”

Rhodey was right. If Tony were to be left alone right now, things would probably end in flames. Alcohol. Tall buildings. Machines. Sharp objects. The list was endless. 

“I’ll call Dr Banner for you, okay? I have to go now, I don’t want to crash. And please, Tony. Stay safe,” Rhodey decided.

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll be there real soon. I’m on the freeway right now.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, man.”

“You too.”

The phone line went dead, and the silence was crushing Tony. He threw the phone over his shoulder, not paying attention to where it landed.

He was sitting at the bar, a drink in his hands. He hadn’t yet taken a sip, questioning if he should get shitfaced drunk or if he should drink just enough to make the emptiness go away. But these days, drinking enough to make the emptiness go away was getting shit-faced drunk. His mind just never seemed to give him a break.

He brought the glass up to his lips, grimacing at first at the bitter liquid, then getting used to it. He drank slowly to fill up the time until Bruce got there, not wanting to get too drunk in front of him; who knew what Tony would say, and he didn’t really want the Hulk to come out and destroy everything on his floor. Although he certainly had the money and the contractors to fix it.

That was all he was good for. Money. That’s why the Avengers stuck around, they just wanted regular upgrades and funding.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Tony responded dully. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

Bruce sat down on the stool beside Tony. “Are you sober?”

Tony pushed the empty glass away from him and grimaced. “I only had one.”

“Good.”

The silence was awkward and heavy. Tony’s hand itched to hold a full, heavy glass, but he just balled it up into a fist and tried not to think about it too much. Bruce drummed his fingers onto the countertop. It was much easier to hold a conversation when they were talking about science, but when it came to feelings, Tony was like a brick wall.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked finally.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled, reaching for the glass anyway just to hold something in his hand.

“I’ve been there, you know. You can talk to me,” Bruce offered.

Tony just shook his head and stared determinedly at the glass. He didn’t want Bruce. He wanted Rhodey. He wished he would hurry up.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Bruce asked.

Tony shook his head again. He hadn’t eaten anything in a day or so, save for his usual black coffee in his hand at any given time. His appetite was practically nonexistent; the only reason he drank coffee was because he knew he would collapse without it. Besides, he got his liquid calories from his most recent glass of whiskey. 

“Let’s go get you some food, alright? I’ll make you something nice,” Bruce said gently, and Tony found himself letting go of his drink and following him. Bruce kept a hand on his elbow, a steady presence.

As soon as they turned the corner to the communal kitchen, though, Tony noticed another person. The intruder turned around with a smile on his face and a greeting, but Tony was hearing everything underwater. Steve Rogers. The last person he wanted to see, especially on this date. December sixteenths were hard enough without the added reminder of who he could never amount to.

He turned around and bolted out of the room, ignoring Bruce’s calls and Steve’s questions. He didn’t stop until he was in his workshop again, hiding behind his desk with Steve and Bruce at the door. They were trying to locate him from behind the glass walls, and if Tony could just catch his breath, he’d tell JARVIS to put the lab on lockdown to tint the windows. 

He counted down from fifteen. He was not about to have a fucking panic attack because of Captain America. That was pathetic. He wasn’t that weak, was he?

His hands were shaking when he brought them up to his face. He rubbed at his eyes, his lips moving silently as he counted down again, trying to ground himself. He nearly jumped when something touched him, but he took his hands off of his eyes and sighed when it was just Dum-E. His robot was looking at him, almost concerned, his claw tilted to the side to give him a questioning look. 

“Hey,” Tony said. “Shove off.”

The robot whirred away after poking his creator again, leaving Tony alone under the desk. The sound of a blender soon filled the room, and Tony shook his head in fond annoyance at the robot’s actions. He had successfully pushed down the panic though, and although he was still a bit shaky, he felt loads better.

The blender stopped for a second and he could hear voices at the glass, and the dread pooled in his stomach again.

The door opened. Tony didn’t dare move, afraid that it was Steve or Bruce or someone that wasn’t Rhodey because he wanted Rhodey so bad right now and he didn’t even know if he could breathe anymore without him and then he cursed himself for being so damn clingy and dependent and he wished that he didn’t get so attached to things, to people, look at Steve, he was doing just fine without his best mate and Peggy Carter and everyone he knew before he went under the ice, why was he so strong, why was Tony so weak? Pathetic. A disappointment. He hugged himself tighter.

“What’s with you and hiding under desks?” a friendly voice asked, and Tony looked up at his friend’s concerned face.

“Rhodey,” Tony whispered. 

“Hey. I told the others to go. You can come out now.” Rhodey moved away so that Tony would have room to curl out of the tight space.

Rhodey didn’t comment on how tight Tony’s hand gripped the table to help himself up, or how he was visibly shaking. Tony read Rhodey’s expression anyway, and blew out a huff of air in annoyance.

“M’fine,” Tony said once he was standing.

“I didn’t say otherwise.” Rhodey put his hands in the air as if in surrender.

“You thought otherwise,” Tony grumbled, sitting in the office chair. “God.”

“You eaten yet?”

“Why does everyone ask me that?” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. “But no.”

“Let’s go get pizza or something,” Rhodey offered. “Something disgustingly greasy and stereotypical. Like Pizza Hut.”

“Sounds… revolting.”

“I know. Let’s go.” Rhodey pulled his friend up out of the chair.

The pizza was okay. Tony really didn’t feel like eating, but under the watchful eyes of Rhodey, he had two slices and a glass of Diet Coke. He hated to admit it, but he did feel a little better after eating something and actually talking to someone for the first time in three days, even if it was ninety percent grease and fat. 

“Thanks,” Tony said quietly, once they had paid and left and were on the way to the car.

“Anytime, man. And I mean it,” Rhodey answered, equally as sincere.

And for the first time in weeks, Tony kind of felt wanted.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve Rogers was making his life miserable.

On days when Tony wasn’t feeling like shying away from any interaction with the Captain, they fought. They were both stupidly stubborn and both smart in different areas, and refused to back down and let the plan play out or admit one was wrong. It carried onto the battlefield, until Clint slammed his fist on the table and demanded that they yell on their own private comms instead of the shared one because it was messing up his aim. Steve absolutely refused to address Tony in battle after that, and Tony did the same. 

“Tell Stark that there’s people in the building.”

“Tell Rogers that I knew that already, I’m not stupid.”

“Stark, you’re being childish,” Natasha said, annoyed.

“I’m being the childish one? Look at Cap, he’s-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted, and as much as Tony wanted to retort, he just grit his teeth so hard that he could feel a headache and tried to concentrate on the plan at hand.

It was like they all sided with the Captain. Tony knew that already, but everytime it was blatantly obvious, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. Worst of all, was that it wasn’t really Steve’s fault that they all liked him better. Tony spent all his time holed up making upgrades or working on stuff for SI, he rarely had time to work on his cars, let alone spend time with the team. Steve on the other hand, spent his time either working out at the gym, running, or just sitting in the common areas and reading. 

In other words, Steve was best friends with everyone else on the team because he put in the effort, and Tony was a lazy ass who couldn’t be bothered to show up to a single meal with them.

In the odd times when Tony was actually hungry and one of Dum-E’s smoothies wouldn’t satisfy him, he’d go up to the communal kitchen and try to make toast or something. He knew he probably looked like death; dark circles around his eyes, pale, skin and bone, sometimes motor oil or even blood on his skin, but he couldn’t summon the energy to get all groomed and dressed just for a measly slice of toast.

“Eat a burger or something,” Clint said, eyeing Tony up and down, an eyebrow raised. Why did everyone happen to be in the kitchen at the same time as him?

“Is that _blood?”_ Bruce asked, pointing to a cut on Tony’s cheek. Tony wiped his face on his sleeve.

“No.” A spring had malfunctioned earlier on one of the widow bites and had managed to slice his skin. He thought it had stopped bleeding.

Tony turned around and put two slices of bread in the toaster, silently wishing it would be done in less than a minute so he could just leave. He was staring determinedly at it, willing it to heat up faster, when a hand on his shoulder made him jump. He turned around quickly, brushing the hand off hastily, his heart pounding.

“Sorry,” Steve said, only about a foot away from Tony (way too close). “But are you okay?”

“Who are you to ask?” Tony scoffed, turning away.

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks a bunch, Cap. Touching. I live to hear your creative insults,” Tony said dryly, still refusing to turn around.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder again and Tony nearly jumped out of his own skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Tony pulled away, his voice venomous. 

“Language.”

“Fuck.”

“You’re being childish. I’m just trying to make sure you’re alright,” Steve said, beginning to get angry.

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine, Cap. You worry too much.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Sorry for caring,” Steve said, not sounding sorry at all. 

“As you should be,” Tony spat. Why wasn’t the toast done. Tony made a note to make a faster toaster.

“Didn’t know you wanted to die alone and miserable and holed up in your work,” Steve continued.

“Yeah, and fuck you too.” The toast popped and Tony grabbed them with his hands, ignoring the burning of his skin, and hurried out without another word.

As soon as he got to his workshop, he realized that he suddenly wasn’t hungry at all. He pitched the Toast That Wasn’t Worth It in the nearest trash can, brushing the crumbs off his hands. 

He made a vow not to leave his workshop unless it was absolutely necessary. No more food. He’d just have to live with whatever he had in his minifridge. 

Just avoid every interaction he could, because they never went well.

\--

He was back at the cave. Rock. Voices shouting. He needed out, before the people came and took him away and forced him to build something to hurt more innocent people with. To bring him face to face with his own mistakes. He started to dig frantically at the rock, forcing down waves of panic that threatened to send him spiraling. He was in a mine. Not a cave. But he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep his surroundings in touch.

“You hurt?” Steve asked, breaking Tony’s intense thought process. He took off his helmet, throwing it to the side, and glared at him.

“Nope,” he answered shortly, with maybe a tinge of annoyance.

They were on a mission, there was a suspected Hydra base housing in an abandoned mine, and lo and behold, during the fight, the section that Tony and Steve were in had collapsed. And now they were stuck.

Together. 

Tony grit his teeth and continued to dig away at the rock, and Steve joined him, pulling away large chunks at once. Tony bit his tongue and tried not to say anything about showing-off. He didn’t need to pick a fight. Not when he was already feeling himself fall apart.

“You okay? You look shaky,” Steve asked.

“An entire mine just collapsed on us,” Tony snapped, pausing to take in a gasp of air. His lungs felt tight and it was getting harder to get a full breath in. “Phenomenal observation skills, Cap.”

“There’s ways to handle this without getting angry,” Steve said in an annoyed tone of voice. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, trying to hold himself together, but he could feel himself falling apart. “Forgive me for feeling a bit unnerved. Guess I’m not as level-headed as you are, a brick wall. I’m not as controlled, go ahead, flaunt it.”

“I wish you’d stop taking words out of my mouth,” Steve frowned, beginning to get angrier. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it? I say something and you twist my words.”

Steve with his strong muscles. A looming threat. Able to stifle breath without effort, his hands crushing Tony’s throat, that’s why he can’t breathe, Steve’s hands were all over him, gripping him, pushing his head under water, pinning him to the ground, to the basin filled with water and blood and motor oil. He shuddered, vaguely aware of his own shaking hands, pausing on their search for an opening in the rocks. He didn’t know if he was holding his own breath or if he physically couldn’t breathe at all. Waves of heat and coldness washed over him, making him shiver and sweat and convincing him that he really was going to die this time.

“Stark?”

“I’m not- I- fuck,” Tony gasped out, collapsing on the ground against a dirt wall.

Tony held his head in his hands, his whole body shaking in the Iron Man suit. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were filling up with water as they held his head under and he couldn’t get air, he needed air, and there was yelling muffled by the water, and hands were all over him, grabbing onto his limbs and his torso and his neck and he wanted them _off._ He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Tony,” Steve said, sliding down the wall to sit beside him. 

“Don’t. Don’t say _anything,”_ Tony got out, his voice strained. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. The last thing he needed was Steve pitying him.

Steve surprised him by nodding and looking straight ahead. He didn’t try to calm Tony down, didn’t intervene. He just stayed a simple presence beside him, keeping Tony grounded. It was quiet except for Tony’s careful and shaky breathing and occasional gasps that he tried so hard to keep silent.

He couldn’t. He didn’t like Steve seeing him in general, let alone having Steve see him freak out. He was stronger than Tony was, he didn’t panic whenever he was caught in small spaces, he didn’t cry out whenever he thought of the wormhole. Tony sometimes couldn’t even shower on his bad days, the water reminding him of Afghanistan, and Steve was out of bed at five every single morning for his daily marathon. Tony was a fucking disappointment.

Tears of shame welled up in his eyes and he swore, pressing his hands harder into them as if he could hold it back. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Steve said, as if Tony needed reminding that he was beside him. 

Tony shook his head, his skin still crawling with the feeling of hands, all over him, forcing his head down, pinning his arms to the side, all in his space. 

Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and although it was through the armour, it was enough to make him jump. “Don’t.”

“Sorry.” Steve took his hand away quickly, as if he’d been burned.

Tony cursed again, pinching the bridge of his nose so hard that it left marks. Pain grounded him, most times, and this time was no different. Steve looked at him worriedly, but common sense told him not to tell him to stop hurting himself.

“Look at me,” he said, positioning himself directly in front of Tony. “Come on.”

Tony shook his head, still pinching skin and using his hand to cover his eyes. His breath was coming out with a strange rattling noise and sounded painful, almost as painful as it felt. Tony felt like a tight coil was choking him, tightening around his chest.

“Tony. Look at me,” Steve demanded.

He lifted his head a bit.

“Not at my shoulder. My eyes,” he continued, and Tony was forced to stare into the pools of blue that were hiding something. Fear? Sadness? Probably pity. “And breathe with me. Come on.”

This was stupid. Tony could talk himself down from a panic attack no problem by himself. Usually.

“In, out. Deep breaths.”

He didn’t need Rogers to teach him how to breathe again.

“Just like I am. You got it.”

He didn’t need Rogers to see him like this.

“We’ll get out of here safely.”

Tony could feel the rubber band loosening around his chest. His hands shook less, he felt less floaty and his skin wasn’t crawling with the sensation of hands grabbing him. He looked down at his knees, avoiding Steve’s gaze as he felt tears fall. Great. Of course he was crying, the universe never gave him a fucking break.

“You’re okay.”

“You don’t get to say that,” Tony snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re always okay. I’m not saying you have it easy or whatever, but you’re always so put-together and so damn righteous, and I’m a fucking mess. You don’t get to say that it’s okay. Because of course it’s okay for you,” Tony spat out words that he vowed to never say to Steve’s face. But he was still shaky, still annoyed, still terribly ashamed, and that kind of left him vulnerable. 

He regretted saying those words. But he couldn’t have shut up if he tried. He avoided looking at Steve, so he could only guess the expression on his face. It wasn’t a pleasant one in his mind.

“I get nightmares. I know you do too,” Steve said finally, moving to sit beside Tony again. “I dream about crashing into the ice, about losing my friends. Sometimes it’s not a fellow soldier going down in battle. Sometimes it’s an Avenger that falls in my dreams,” he admitted.

“You get nightmares?” Tony lifted his head a bit.

“You don’t come out of this line of work unscathed,” Steve said grimly. 

Tony agreed.

“And I’m a chronic worrier. Not about myself, usually. But when it comes to you? I always worry. What if you drink yourself to death one day? What if you work yourself until you collapse, but we’re not there to take care of you?”

“You get mad at me when I drink,” Tony accused.

“You know how to push my buttons. I get mad, yeah. But I still worry. And I know you have your reasons to drink, but I just wish- like, I wish you didn’t. I wish you didn’t feel the need to crawl into the bottle. I wish instead you came to one of us and told us when you’re feeling down, and we can help you. I wish you never felt down in the first place.”

“I have… problems.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to die.”

“You don’t?”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you’re still my teammate. I still care about you.”

“You’re just so, perfect. I’m always being compared to you.”

“By who?”

Tony bit his lip. “Myself. My dad.”

“I don’t mean this in the wrong way, but isn’t he dead?” Steve asked cautiously, and Tony barked out a cold laugh.

“ _If Captain America were alive today, there would be no way you would be permitted to see him. God. What an embarrassment you are.”_ Tony quoted in a grand voice. “You were my father’s favourite son.”

“I’m not his son.”

“Try telling him that,” Tony spat, panic making way for anger.

“Tony.”

“It’s… okay. I don’t care. Whatever. When all is said and all is done and all that.” Tony waved his right hand as a form of dismissal, suddenly embarrassed by his sudden outburst of feelings.

“Tony. Listen to me, okay?” Steve said, looking at Tony with so much sincere that Tony had to meet his eyes. “Your father sounds like shit.”

Tony laughed. “You sure?”

“Howard Stark.” Steve leaned back against the wall. “A wonderful genius, America’s saviour, and the worst father in the world.”

“Why are you saying this?” Tony asked, amused.

“Getting used to it.” Steve shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to give you another reason to hate me,” Tony admitted, looking at his knees.

“I don’t hate you.”

“I’m still finding that hard to believe," Tony mumbled.

Steve sighed. “Tony Stark. I really do care about you, okay? Really. You’re an asset to this team, and we need you, both on the battlefield and off.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Okay,” Tony repeated. “I, uh, don’t hate you either.”

Steve laughed. “Good to know. You good to try again?”

“Yeah. Digging. Mine. Right.” All of Tony’s breath left his lungs in an instant. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“You okay?”

“I’m good. I will be.” Tony opened his eyes and began to stand up, willing the persistent thoughts about Afghanistan to stay down. 

“Here.” Steve got up first and held out his hand.

Tony took it and Steve hauled him up. He no longer saw it as a display of dominance, that Steve was stronger than him.

He was okay.

\--

Tony would’ve liked to say that spilling his guts out to the Captain solved the rivalry between them, that they were suddenly best friends after being rescued, that he wasn’t depressed as fuck, that the thoughts of inferiority no longer plagued his brain. But of course, it didn’t fix everything. 

But he _could_ say that he had less of a problem being confronted. He had less of a problem asking for help. He had less of a problem when Steve told him to _please just eat something and see daylight_ when he knew that it made Steve sleep easier at night. He just wanted to help. Tony had finally gotten that through his thick skull, instead of thinking that Steve was berating him. 

Tony could breathe now. He didn't jump at the opportunity to start an argument. He was less defensive, even borderline friendly to the Captain.

And maybe when he was having a bad day he seeked out Steve Rogers.

And maybe Tony let him help him.

_And maybe it all worked out in the end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And sorry again for the long pause... expect something from me on Halloween though!  
> Once again, commenting makes my week and is much appreciated :)


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